House's House
by DIY Sheep
Summary: Houseland: Where architecture follows no rules or boundaries and everyday can bring a new challenge or a new staircase...
1. Chapter 1

This was inspired by a discussion regarding the Escheresque nature of House's house.

………..

He didn't mind it all that much, except on the odd occasion when he'd come home to find the whole thing had moved and then he would have to track it down.

As far as he was concerned it made life interesting, even if it meant tripping over the odd surprise when he went to pee in the middle of the night.

Being one of those people to observe everything about him he was amazed no one had ever cottoned on. Or maybe they had just been too polite to mention it. He suspected the mailman might be suspicious. One day he had come home to find him staring at the street number and the letters in his hand with a wild sort of look in his eyes.

He wondered if things would get tricky now that Wilson was actually living with him. He had been sure the closet was going to give it away, but the piano and the fireplace seemed to have settled down and it seemed to be working fine; although the place seemed a little smaller, but that just could be there were two of them living there now.

So he supposed he had gotten away with it, but he still kept a close eye on the couch. Wilson would be bound to notice that one.

But his luck was too good to last. House was contentedly watching TV, while Wilson played mother and cooked dinner.

He heard a squawk from the kitchen and looked up to see Wilson with tomato sauce all over his lovely ironed dress shirt. He sniggered happily. "I told you to wear an apron."

Wilson dripped sauce and glared at him. "You don't own an apron," he said caustically.

"You gonna clean that up," asked House as he gestured to the sauce spreading on the floor.

Wilson grabbed a tea towel. "No, I am going to change," he said forcefully. "You are going to clean this mess up," he paused cruelly for dramatic effect. "That is unless you don't want to eat tonight."

Low blow, thought House. Wilson knew House was a sucker for his cooking. Jewish mommas sure taught their boys well. Sighing and huffing he heaved himself to his feet and took the cloth from Wilson as he went past.

He lowered himself gingerly and began to mop up the sauce. Contemplating on how he could get back on Wilson for being unfair to the cripple, when he heard Wilson call his name.

His spider senses started tingling. It was the 'uh oh' way Wilson said his name. It was the one that started low at the H and turned into a question by the E. He leaved himself to his feet and grabbed his cane.

He limped into the corridor to find Wilson standing in front of a door. Damn, he thought. Busted.

"Hey House where's this door lead," said Wilson in a very puzzled way. He creased his forehead in confusion. "I don't remember…" he said trailing off.

House smiled, shrugged and said nothing. That was how it seemed to work.

Wilson opened it, took one look, a very deep breath and then turned around in annoyance, with his hands on his hips. "You have a second bedroom?"

House looked stoically at him.

Wilson ran his hands through his hair. "All this time you have been making me sleep on the couch and you have a second bedroom?" he said as he went into the newly discovered room.

House stood in the hallway, flinching slightly as Wilson's anguished cry of "And it's got an en suite," came floating out.

"Thanks a lot," he muttered under his breath as he looked to the ceiling. He knew full well that yesterday there had been no door there. "You could have produced it a few weeks ago, but no - you just had to get me into trouble."


	2. Chapter 2

"Cameron," he yelled into the meeting room. "Get in here – NOW!"

She came barreling in, only to find House standing over his desk with a look of extreme aggravation on his face. In his hand was the ball.

"What?" she yelled.

"It's different," he said eyeing the ball suspiciously.

That's it, she thought. House has lost it. "What are you talking about? It's still round and squishy isn't it?"

He held it out accusingly. "But," he said slowly as if explaining to a particularly slow child. "It is the wrong colour." He paused for emphasis. "Again."

She ran her hands through her hair in exasperation at her insane boss. "I don't know." She thought desperately. "Maybe Wilson repainted it or something – for a joke."

"Why would he repaint my ball? It isn't a god dammed rose bush from Alice and Wonderland," he said evilly.

She threw her hands up. "I don't know. Why don't you ask him yourself? He's just out there on the balcony." She pointed.

At this House's eyes widened and he whipped around. "Balcony?" He limped over to the door and peered out at Wilson, who was currently happily eating lunch on a deck chair.

"Cool," he said as his eyes lit up. "I've got a balcony."

A thought occurred to him. He could play hooky there. "Does Cuddy know about that," he asked pointing to the offending piece of architecture.

"Yes I do," came a voice from the door. He turned to find Cuddy standing there, looking annoyed. "And consider yourself lucky. I only got a courtyard."

House looked at her thoughtfully over the ball of truly unknown origin. "Do ya think," he said thoughtfully. "That if I wished hard enough I could get a Jacuzzi in the meeting room? Cameron in a bikini," he wiggled excitedly. "Woof!"

"Don't push it House."


	3. Chapter 3

House hissed angrily "I don't care how much you love me. You are not, I repeat not coming to the poker game," he said as he kept one eye out for Wilson and tried to fix his bow tie at the same time.

"And stop watching me when I sleep. It is bad enough you follow me around the flat. Do you know how disconcerting it is to wake up and find _you_ in my bedroom? I thought Wilson was going to wake up the other night when I crashed into your lower octaves on the way for a pee. You are just lucky that man sleeps the sleep of the dead. So just stay where you are meant to be."

He angrily tugged at his tie. "Don't go walkies." Everyone else gets kittens and puppies, he thought to himself. Why me, he sighed as he eyed the cause of his distress.

But after a few moments silence House gave in. "Oh come on… I'm sorry." House relented. "I'll play with you when I get back."

But the piano just continued to look a bit mournful.

"But as for tonight - No!" he emphasized.

"No what," said Wilson as he walked into the living room.

"Er, I said: 'Oh no - for once your tie isn't ugly'," replied House quickly.

Wilson looked at him strangely. House was strange, but this was slightly more strange than usual.

"House, you weren't just talking to your piano were you?"

House practically jumped. "My piano? Why would I be talking to my piano?" He said stupidly. "It's a piano, after all."

Wilson eyed him suspiciously. "Riight."

House took a deep breath. "Good, now that we have got all this talk about talking to your overly possessive piano out of the way, lets go."

He cast the piano one more warning look and the two men left for the fundraiser.

...………………………………

"Why Doctor Cuddy, what a revealing dress you have on tonight. All part of your poker strategy?" Said House with a leer.

But he was disappointed when Cuddy just eyerolled at him and went back to her conversation with the fundraiser organiser. Cuddy too busy to engage in verbal fencing with him? Something was wrong.

House listened in and caught snippets of their conversation.

"What do you mean you don't know where it came from? It's a piano for god's sake. It doesn't just magically appear... I only ordered a quartet... oh well someone might be able to play it."

As he listened House got a sinking feeling. That little bastard, he thought. What was worse than having a piano that loved you, but one who disobeyed direct orders? Didn't they teach them anything in piano school these days? Well, it was a baby grand, so it wasn't properly trained yet, but still: he had told it in no uncertain terms to stay at home tonight.

As casually as he could he loitered off to find it. When he found it he would give it some good Beethoven – something thumpy, like the Ninth. That would teach it a lesson.

Yes, there it was, sitting in the lobby of all places and the damn thing looked smug.

He sauntered over to it and hissed out of the corner of his mouth. "I'll deal with you later - and you better be back home before Wilson or you are firewood." With that he turned his back on it and went to enjoy the party.

…………..

Wilson was jazzed. He had won the tournament. He sat down at the keyboard and bashed the middle C for all he was worth, until the string squeaked.

"I know, I'm sorry," he said. "But I won tonight and I am all excited." He pulled down the cover and stood up. "I'm off to tell Greg."

He ran his fingers over the black surface of the piano and looked around furtively. "And you need to get home soon," He leant down. "You know how he gets."

…………………………………………………………………………………

Author's note: Two words – Douglas Adams.


	4. Chapter 4

The Continuity Monkeys Strike Again

House looked at the devastation the cop had made of his apartment. Son of a bitch mongrel bastard. He still had 'having my baby' running through his head. That was punishment enough for a thermometer 'accidentally' forgotten in an inconvenient spot. But trashing his apartment was cruel and unusual punishment. He gazed at the tropical palms blowing gently in the breeze outside his window and idly wondered what the cop had made of Cuddy's red thong in his underwear drawer.

He would have to call his cleaning service: C.M. Cleaning Services Inc. He rubbed his scruff thoughtfully. Maybe he should try another firm. He liked C.M. They worked cheap. In fact he had never known of a cleaning service that wanted to be paid in bananas before.

But they kept putting everything back in the wrong place. When he'd asked them to tidy up the closet, he hadn't meant quite in that sense.

He also suspected they may have had something to do with that small door in the alcove that said 'this way to John Malkovich'.

Now he always skirted past it on the way to his bedroom, eyeing it warily, his back against the wall, no way was he going through that door again. It had taken ages to get back from the New Jersey Turnpike, he'd been late for work and Cuddy had yelled at him. He'd tried to explain he'd been filming Con Air, but she'd just given him extra clinic hours and told the nurses to keep him away from the red lollipops. It was so unfair. He never got an even break.

…

Tim the prop guy sighed happily. Finally, after all these months the Househaus, as those little eagled eyed pedantic bastards called it, was perfect. Everything single irritating teensie weensie prop was mapped, marked out and properly placed. No one could complain now.

A work of art, he thought as he entered the set. His happiness turned to shock as he stared at the apartment set. Rage cursed through his veins. Who, he thought. Who could have done this to him?

Then he saw the single banana lying on the floor.

…

Hugh wasn't paying much attention as he traipsed down one of the Fox side streets to his next set for filming. He puffed happily on a cigarette while going over the script.

Walk into apartment. Apartment trashed. Look all dramatic: check. Line line line…. Hey a new guitar! Cool. Tritter is all menacing. Look all dramatic: check. Hmmm – no brooding this scene? He stopped and brooded about his lack of brooding. Must talk to the producers he thought.

He was jolted out of his brooding when suddenly he heard a hooting howling sound. One of the Writing Monkeys was bolting round the corner with Tim the head prop guy in hot pursuit waving… was that a machete – where had he got that from. Just what was happening on Standoff this week?

"Everything okay Tim?" he asked as the man bolted past.

"Just fine Mr Laurie. Just a little chat with one of the writers," yelled Tim breathlessly as he rounded past the Bones set in pursuit of the little howling devil.

Hugh smiled. Those loveable little monkeys – always coming up with crazy kooky ideas. He noticed David Morse. He was standing by the Bones set looking slightly bewildered.

"Hey David," he yelled. "This way."

David came over and they continued on their way. "Hugh," said David pointing to back the way he had come. "Did I just see a little monkey in a tie run past me?"

"They work cheap." Hugh shrugged and quickened his pace. This was Hollywood after all. They did things differently here. "Come on, this way David." He wanted to check out that new guitar.

…

House came home and sighed. C.M. had done okay. Everything seemed to in its proper place. He checked. Yes he still had a kitchen and he decided he rather liked the tropical palms he could see out of his window. Sort of like Lost meets Princeton.

He went into the bedroom and sat down on the bed. Sleep. A nice night's entertainment.

He was pulling off his shoes when he noticed it. Oh shit. A wardrobe. A big wardrobe. A big old fashioned wardrobe.

He cautiously approached it. He gingerly opened the door. No black holes or portals to other dimensions so far – just fur coats. He didn't think fur coats were his thing. He pushed them aside.

Oh great – a freakin lamp post.

He sat on the bed and put his hands in his head. His best friend hated him, he was up on drug charges and a big nasty cop was on his tail. Quite frankly Azlan could just go take a jump in the lake.


End file.
